


Chapter of Change

by deckerisdead



Series: Loss of Happening / Chapter of Change [2]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boris Pavlikovsky Goes to New York, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, M/M, NEW YORK TIME, Shitty plot, angsty fucking theo, jealous?? jealous boris, sequel to loss of happening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deckerisdead/pseuds/deckerisdead
Summary: [SEQUEL TO LOSS OF HAPPENING!] A world in which Theo's dad never died, he never left Boris.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Pippa
Series: Loss of Happening / Chapter of Change [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953154
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Chapter of Change

**Author's Note:**

> triggers:  
> mentions of sexual assault, death, self-harm

## I.

_Home isn't a place,_

_It's a feeling_

\- Cecelia Ahern

* * *

## Chapter 1.

## Hand On Mine

* * *

## i.

WE WENT TO SLEEP as soon as we hit the bed that night. Nothing was awkward, either. Hobie took no negative response to our relationship.

The morning after though, as I woke up intertwined with Boris and our hair still damp, I feared to explain this all to Hobie. Would he think it was pointless to travel across the country and come here? Or would he understand? Would I leave parts out? Or tell nothing but the truth?

I let those thoughts vanish because Boris was waking up too. He gave me a quick smile before rolling away and getting up. I laid there, too exhausted to do the same. I reached over for my glasses. Putting them on, I watched as Boris sifted through his bag, then pulling out clothing that was certainly his father’s—and way too big.

“Would make a good impression?” It was a gray, long-sleeved button-up with stains of who-knows-what.

“God no, just wear a t-shirt. And some fucking pants.”

He chuckled and, to my surprise, actually thought he was wearing pants. “Right. Stupid me.”

“Exactly,” I retorted, finally getting out of bed.

He threw his dad’s shirt at me, I shrieked and stepped back. “Hey! Gross! _Poshel ty!_ ”

“I’m the only one allowed to call me stupid!”

I laughed and our bickering went on for another few minutes as we dressed. “Wait, shoot, how early is it?”

“Can’t you read the time?”

“Fuck off,” I said, glancing at the clock myself. Seven in the morning. I hoped that Hobie was up already, but also not. I wouldn’t want him to hear us acting like this, as I’m still the polite and mature Upper East Side kid to him.

For whatever reason, I made sure Boris and I walked out of the room separately. I went first, of course. He wouldn’t know what to say to Hobie, as they had not yet talked to each other.

“You’re up early,” Hobie commented, making coffee as I sat down at the table. “Anyway, huh! How you’ve grown! And your hair!”

“Yeah. . . Boris kind of influenced that. His hair is even longer.”

He sat down with me. “I noticed. How’d you guys meet?”

“At school, kind of boring but.”

He looked past me. “Speaking of!”

Boris had awkwardly stepped in, with the famous “Never Summer” shirt and shorts. “Hey. . .”

Hobie was overly enthusiastic about all of this, but I didn’t really mind. He gave his seat to Boris, who ineptly sat down and gave me a smirk, meaning _I don’t know what’s happening but I’ll go with it anyway_.

“So, can you explain what happened? Why you showed up at my door while I thought you were across the country?”

I told him most of it, but left out the fact my father called us queers and how everyone at school hated our guts.

“Well, I want you guys to phone your parents. Let them know you’re safe.”

Boris opened his mouth to refuse, but I stopped him. “We’ll do that,” I said.

 _Fuck you_ , he mouthed. 

We went back to our room to call them. Boris was pacing. “What if he tracks it? What if he finds me?”

“Shut up, you’ll be fine.” I dialed their home number. It took them only seconds to pick up. It was my dad.

“ _Theo?_ ” he exclaimed.

“Yeah. I’m safe.”

He was breathless. “Where the hell are you?”

Hearing him talk made my blood boil. “You don’t give a shit, I don’t need to tell you. Don’t call me. Fuck you.”

Boris was staring at me, biting his nails. I tossed the phone to him. “Just call him.”

It took him some convincing, but eventually, he gave in. He was trembling. I could hear faint Polish swears, yelling, even.

Once he hung up, he was already in tears. I tried to comfort him, but it was no use. He crashed onto the hard, wood floor, covering his face and sobbing.

“He’s going to fucking kill me!”

I kneeled next to him, rubbing his back, where I could feel his spine sticking out stiffly. “Boris, he’s just a weak piece of shit. He can’t hurt you.”

“He knows awful people though! Send them here!” he cried, his voice cracked and he tumbled onto his back. Now that I could see his eyes, they were red and puffy, he was choking up so much I could see him swallow.

I laid next to him, wiping away his tears as he calmed. I ran my fingers through his hair and smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re safe, you hear me?”

He nodded, sniffling.

We laid there for a while, occasionally brushing hands. Then Boris looked at me. “What if this was a mistake?”

“No! No, fuck no. We haven’t even been here a full twenty-four hours, give it some time.”

There was a knock at the door. We scrambled to get up and sit on the bed, acting as nothing happened. “Come in!” I said.

Hobie opened it. “Uh, well, I was gonna go out and get some stuff for your dog—Popper, right? Anyway, how did those calls go?”

We both shrugged and said our goodbyes.

## ii.

DAYS ALL BLENDED TOGETHER, sluggish mornings at the TV, watching cartoons and falling back asleep, just to wake up in the evening with Hobie calling us for dinner (which I had missed, his meals were always amazing). He wasn’t out often, I doubt he had sold any furniture since I left more than two years ago.

I still felt somewhat embarrassed by Boris and me. I refrained from getting too close with him, I worried that Hobie would walk in on us in the mornings, clinging to each other and only half-asleep. I also feared that Hobie wouldn’t like Boris, that maybe Boris would slip up and say the wrong thing, already ruining their potential bond.

In other words, we were planned to go to school tomorrow. We’d already been at Hobie’s for a couple of weeks, and the entire time I was dreading hearing the news. Even worse, it was my old school. I had to face the Barbours, fucking Tom Cable, and all my other classmates with my new look and personality—and new “friend”.

“Come on, a fresh start!” Boris said, who I could tell wasn’t too thrilled either, he only wanted to cheer me up.

“For you, sure. For me, it’s an old start.” I focused on the television, playing Teen Titans. Even looking at Boris would make me feel awful. I’d been such a dickhead lately.

Silence followed for a minute or so before he jumped up and put his hand out for me to take. “We’re going on a walk.”

I groaned. I rolled off the couch and he helped me up. I felt sick, my head was throbbing and my throat was disgustingly dry. I hadn’t had much of an appetite since we arrived.

Outside, it was cloudy. It was hard to remember a day where it wasn’t, lots of memories from my home had faded away in Vegas. It was also cloudy on _the_ day. We brought Popper along, as he hadn’t fully been out yet.

We looked homeless, we were both in sweatpants and shirts, but Boris brought along a coat too.

I stayed silent most of the walk, but eventually I asked Boris a question, something I wondered about a lot. “Should I get a girlfriend? I don’t know, just so people. . . don’t think the wrong thing.”

“The wrong thing? We’re literally—”

I stopped him. “Do you wanna make it home today? Yeah? Then shut up.”

He looked at me in a way where I instantly knew I messed up. I’d only seen him like this a couple of times. “I’m sorry, I just—Jesus Christ, I’m such a mess,” I said, rubbing my face. “All of this just scares the shit out of me.”

“If you don’t wanna put labels on anything, if that makes you feel better, it’s fine. It stresses me out too. And I really don’t care if you get a girlfriend.”

I let out a mumbled “okay” and that was that.

## iii.

"THEO?" A FAMILIAR BUT deeper voice called behind me. I turned around to see Andy Barbour. A much taller version of him.

“Hey!” I said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. I tried not to focus on the confused faces passing by me, shoves and hollers.

Boris, on my right, finally noticed we stopped and looked to him. “You’re Andy, yes?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m Boris.” He held his hand out. I almost wanted to put down his hand, it was gross. His fingernails were awfully chewed down and had dirt underneath. Andy shook it anyway.

“He’s my. . . friend from Vegas. Desert End Road, hah. . .” I mumbled. “Let’s go now.” I seized his arm and dashed away. I let go of it before anyone noticed.

“You’re—what’s the word? Uptight today. Were you this boring before? Lucky you had me!”

“Were you always this annoying?”

We both laughed a little, and even though it wasn’t much it still made me feel better. 

At lunch, lots more people realized I was back. A few asked why, but I ignored them. Too long of a story. Boris was already considered a gross burnout. People scoffed at him, which made me angry but I understood. I saw him in that way when we first met. Soon enough, they’d see me that way too. At least I wasn’t being seen as a fag.

“Wanna go out tonight, Potter?” Boris asked, sitting on my right.

My eyes met his. I did one of our hand gestures. _What do you mean?_

“Dunno, like. . . a date? Or not—if you don’t wanna—we could just go to the park or something—or not we could just stay home—” he whispered.

“Boris. It’s fine. We can do something like that.”

He smiled at me and went back to his food, a simple PB&J from the cafeteria. I didn’t get anything. I didn’t deserve it.

## iv.

EVERYTHING WAS GOING FAIRLY well. We were walking around town, stopping by whatever we could find and having fun.

I, out of focus, laughing so hard I could hardly see, ran into someone who looked so similar to Nathan I felt my heart drop. They apologized and kept walking while I was coughing and close to hurling. Boris patted my back, asking what was wrong and if I was okay. I couldn’t answer.

“Fuck,” I said, rubbing my eyes and standing up.

“Okay now? What happened?” he asked, his hand on my shoulder.

I looked around, worried someone was staring at me. “Uh, could we sit down?”

He nodded and we took a seat at a bench only a couple of feet away. “The guy, he looked a lot like Nathan I thought he was him and—”

“Nathan?”

“That one person. . . from rehab? Y’know?”

He looked away. “Oh.”

“Could we just go home? Sorry for fucking things up.”

“No, is fine,” he said, grabbing my hand and helping me up. We walked home silently, but in my head I was screaming at myself for everything.

## v.

IT WAS ALREADY CLOSE to winter break and the house had been replaced with a cold, bitter, emptiness. I kept myself out and about, going on walks with Popper and eating at restaurants—usually with Boris. At school, Tom Cable ignored me as he did before. I didn’t mind. Andy talked to me some, and the rest of the students treated me the same as always. I was going to have to see the Barbours again soon and I wasn’t sure if Andy had told them yet.

“Pippa’s gonna visit for Christmas,” Hobie said to me joyfully as he fixed himself a cup of coffee.

“Really? That’s great.”

“I think Boris and her will get along fairly well.”

This was wrong. Boris acted as respectful as he could around him, jumping to help him with dishes and listening to him thoughtfully as he rambled about his memories and family or whatever he loved to talk about. But I knew it was just to please whoever, me or Hobie—I couldn’t tell. The truth is: he was a fucking mess. Careless, improper, his mood swings were ridiculous and his jokes were cruel and embarrassing. He could lose his shit one moment and be completely fine the next. He couldn’t handle school, he’d pour out all his feelings to me in the school bathroom, crying. We’d stay in there for a little too long and would get scolded as we walked into our classes.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about the Pippa situation. Yes, I’d missed her. But ever since she kissed me I’d felt guilty, for what, I don’t know. Things would be awkward between me, Boris, and her—although she didn’t know anything about us, I had a feeling he would slip up and say the wrong thing.

On the last day before break, Andy approached us after school in the parking lot. “My, uh, my family’s thinking about having dinner with you tonight, if that’s okay. You can bring him,” he said, gesturing towards Boris, who was staring at him blankly.

This freaked me out so much I gave him a quick nod and bolted, not bothering to grab Boris’s arm as I usually did. I was worried the Barbours wouldn’t think of me so highly anymore, that they’d think I turned into some junkie you’d find wandering in the Lower East Side. Or that I was a queer.

Boris caught up with me only moments later. “You’re just having dinner with them. Calm down, _durak_.”

I didn’t bother to reply.

“Think he forgot my name. Is okay. Boris. . . how ugly.”

Walking to their apartment was a wave of emotions, I remembered practically everything. Certain cracks of the pavement, crosswalks, shops, and more. I kept silent while Boris rambled about the cold, how it’d been so long since he felt this weather, his nights of sleeping on the streets in Russia. We had gotten him new clothes earlier, a thick coat and black suit to wear.

I knocked on their door, my heart racing. Boris gave me a pat on the shoulder.

Mrs. Barbour greeted me first, a great smile (something I’d hardly seen on her) and hug. Then Mr. Barbour, then Andy. Kitsey and Toddy were busy bickering at the dinner table. They both looked surprisingly different.

Boris was given a few quick waves, but no introduction from anyone. Already a bad sign, or I was paranoid. Who knows.

The dinner was good, I was sure it was Etta’s food, which was a relief. I always liked her. Mr. and Mrs. Barbour held a conversation going, but neither us nor the kids joined in.

Out of the blue, Boris introduced himself. No one seemed to notice. He didn’t speak for the rest of our time there.

“Lovely to see you again,” Mrs. Barbour said, giving me another hug. “How you’ve grown!”

I nodded, painting on a smile. We all said our goodbyes (excluding Boris, of course) and left.

Stepping into our room was comforting, a wave of warmth and security. It’s hard to explain, no one was there to judge us, it was just us and it was ours to stay in.

“I’m sorry,” I said, tossing my coat onto the floor (a bad habit, something I’d picked up on in Vegas).

He stood at the doorframe, leaning on it tiredly. “It’s fine. I’m probably gonna. . . I dunno. Hang out in the living room for a bit. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He was about to leave, but I stopped him. “Boris?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” I said, giving him a smile.

“I love you too.”

## vi.

“THEO!" PIPPA EXCLAIMED IN her usual, breathy voice that filled the room with reassurance and comfort. There was always that about her.

She threw her arms around me and I awkwardly hugged her back. It had been a long time. We stayed like that for a good minute.

Pippa then looked at Boris. “Sorry, but have I met you before? I don’t remember a lot.”

“We haven’t. I’m Boris and I’m Potter’s—I mean Theo’s—”

“Friend! Yeah, friend. I met him in Vegas,” I butted in. Boris was so careless with his words he could get us killed. 

Pippa gave me an odd look. “Potter?” she said, giggling. 

I looked down and smiled. 

“He looks like him, yes?”

“Sure.”

I cleared my throat and glanced at Boris, then her. “You guys wanna get dinner? I know a place.”

They agreed. On our way, lots of businesses were preparing to close for Christmas tomorrow. It didn’t make me feel more excited, if anything, less excited. A frigid day filled with silence.

It was a diner I was surprised no one came to. I went after school lots of times. We settled in a booth near the back.

“Do you know that Theo fell asleep on a swing? In Vegas?” Boris said, trying to start up a conversation I wasn’t sure he’d finish. Once he was invested in something, there was no going back.

Pippa laughed. “No.”

I was already embarrassed, and there were sure more awful experiences he was going to tell her about.  
“My god, it was funny. He’d get so blackout drunk he’d sleep anywhere. I was trying to wake him up, but it was no use. I just sat on the ground. The entire fucking night. But, really, I have some embarrassing stories too. If um, Theo wants to tell any.”

They looked at me. I stammered. “Well—uh, I don’t know. I mean, I—I guess I don’t remember a lot.”

“Oh! We even went to the strip a few times, y’know, on our own. We’d shoplift a ton of stuff, we were Las Vegas’s most wanted!”

I did laugh at that, but I hid it with the back of my hand.

“And his parents were literally always gone, I have no idea why, whether they were out doing a fuck ton of drugs, or something like that. Anyway, we had the entire house to ourselves! Hell, the whole neighborhood! It was _fantastic_.”

Boris continued to ramble about various stories, such as nights at the pool or our Thanksgivings or even Kotku. It was interrupted by the waiter a few times, but other than that he was on a roll. I really didn’t want Pippa to think I’ve changed, even though I probably have.

I, tired and my stomach aching from the food, was leaning against my window. Boris’s words jumbled together and I had no idea what he was on about now. But, a couple of words stood out. _Overdosed_ , _rehab_.

I sat up, looked at him, and when he didn’t look back I punched Boris’s thigh under the table.

“Ow!” He gave me a gesture, _what is it?_

I tried to signal to him through my hands, but it was no use. “Talk about something else, _pidaras_.”

His jaw dropped, offended but in a jokingly way. He looked back to Pippa and smiled, on the verge of bursting out laughing.

“I mean, okay. Well, one time, you see, we were watching the television and it was very early in the morning, so we didn’t suspect anyone would be home anytime soon. . .” slowly his words drifted off, and the next thing I knew we were grabbing our things and stepping out the door, into the cold.

When we were back inside, Hobie greeted us with a smile. “How was dinner?”

“Lovely!” Pippa said, giving him a warm hug.

He looked back at the two of us for a moment. “Well, I’ll be down in the workshop, I just got a new batch of furniture to mend.”

“And I guess I’ll be settling in. Still need to get my luggage out of the car. It was nice to meet you, Boris,” she said, giving us a quick smile and heading back outside. We went back to our room.

“God, I’m so tired,” I muttered, collapsing onto our bed.

Boris, perched on the windowsill, taking out a pack of Winstons (which he stole from Hobie), glanced over at me and shrugged. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a hyper fuck. I would go to bed right now, but I kind of. . . told Pippa I slept on the couch.”

“What?” he said, laughing.

“She—she was asking where I slept! I wouldn’t say I slept in her room and she already knows you sleep in this room and I just—”

He was just about to light a cigarette before he jumped up and threw himself on the bed. “You dumbass!” he exclaimed. “You could’ve just said we shared a room!”

“Well, I thought she would take it the wrong way.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in pity. “Hah! You’re going to have to sleep in there the entire time she’s here, you know that, yes?”

“I can always sneak in here. And if I wake up early and go back, she won’t know a thing!” I explained.

He continued to pester me about it the whole evening, jabbing my collarbone and cackling as I tried to push him away, onto the other side of the bed.

## vii.

BORIS, THANKFULLY, WOKE ME up before Pippa did. She came in the kitchen, moving quietly and peacefully, as she usually did. Something nice about that. She was startled to see me.

“Oh, hey. Did you sleep?”

I nodded. “I suppose. Not a lot, though. Woke up early.”

She smiled at me then began her own morning routine. A cup of coffee, toast, and TV. I sat down next to her on the couch. “What do you think of Boris?” I asked.

“He seems fun. I get why you’re friends with him.”

 _Friend_. That made my stomach turn. I didn’t know what to call us, friends didn’t seem right nor anything more. “Yeah.”

Awkward silence followed. I got up and made myself some breakfast, the sound of the news faint. Boris came out of our room shortly after. It was shocking how different we both looked. I hadn’t realized until that morning. I was almost his height, and he, still lanky and zombie-like, had a much more mature face, his hair got curlier and he looked more tired than ever.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.”

I had almost forgotten it was Christmas. Hobie hadn’t put up any decorations or even a tree. He was downstairs, tinkering with whatever antique as usual. The day consisted of Christmas movies on the couch, Pippa going out to meet with old friends, Boris and I lingering in our bedroom, chatting about the usual. But he presented me with an idea.

“What if, okay, okay, hear me out on this. What if we went to karaoke bar! I mean, sneak in. No drinking though.”

“Boris, that’s absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

He nagged me about it until I gave in. I didn’t see the point of it. What was so fun about watching a bunch of drunk college students doing karaoke? We’d get in trouble, too. But honestly, Boris and I hadn’t done anything fun or out of our comfort zone since we got here. We sat around all day, watching cartoons, going on walks, eating dinner with Hobie, checking out the workshop every once in a while, and going to school obviously. Nothing like old times where we almost lost our lives every single night, whether it be from the drugs or us doing stupid shit while drunk. Or Boris’s father. I missed it—I missed before everything went downhill, when I wasn’t treated like I can’t handle myself, when Boris and I were just another two faces in the crowds, when my dad didn’t treat me like shit, and when things weren’t complicated.

I spent so much of my time reminiscing like this I’d hardly seen the days go by. But something new was that night and I didn’t need to think about it then. A fucking break.

With Pippa and Hobie out of the house, we said goodbye to Popper and left.

The sun was setting, little shimmers of light peaking out from the buildings. It wasn’t as cold as I expected, but my nose was stuffed and cold and I could feel my hands shivering a bit. Boris, alongside me, looked so much older and grown. He was wearing a long black coat, his Never Summer t-shirt, and boots. The only thing still clutching to our childhood was the dumb shirt I met him in. This was the day I knew we were growing up.

We walked in subtly and took a seat at a booth in the back. A couple of girls, probably in their late 20s, were singing “Come on Eileen” very drunkenly on the small stage in the front.

“Y’know. I really need to piss,” Boris said.

I looked at him blankly. “Then piss?”

“Alright,” he smiled at me and went off to the bathroom in the corner.

He came back not long after and grabbed a table’s leftover, full, drink stealthily, giving me his iconic, devilish grin. He sat next to me and drank it with no hesitation.

“That’s gross, dude. Plus, didn’t you say no drinking?”

“Come on! It’s one night. Don’t be so uptight, Potter. Here, have some,” he said, handing me it.

I thought about it for a second and decided, _why not_ ? I mean, he was right. It was just one night. It was sweet, definitely rum. Boris had gotten up and stolen a couple of more drinks, and multiple shots later we were already _v gavno_. Laughing and on the verge of puking, just like old times.

“Hey, hey, Potter.”

“Hm?”

“What if,” he giggled, “what if we do some karaoke, yes?”

I laughed too, but I wasn’t on board. “You can, but I won’t.”

He shrugged and waltzed upon the stage a minute later. He picked up the microphone and began his plan to convince me to sing. 

“Okay, so, my boyfriend—I mean—male friend—actually, that doesn’t make any fucking sense,” he said, a few people chuckling. “My friend over there doesn’t want to sing with me and I think that’s ridiculous!”

I flipped him off, sunk in my seat, and embarrassed. 

He started up a chant. _Theo, Theo, Theo. . ._

I wanted to punch the shit out of him—but I didn’t, I got up and joined him to just make it stop.

“What do you wanna sing, Potter?”

“Fucking Christ, what do _you_ wanna sing?”

He went through the options and gasped in excitement. “There’s Queen!”

Before I knew it we were singing You’re My Best Friend, although it was more him than me.

_Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had_

_I've been with you such a long time_

_You're my sunshine and I want you to know_

_That my feelings are true_

_I really love you_

We were singing horribly and we both knew that, but it was still fun. When it was over, we sat back down and I, tired and way out of it, laid my head on his shoulder. I could feel his heart speed up.

When we got back to Hobie’s, the lights were out and we tip-toed to our room, both faint and tired. We were passed out instantly.

## viii.

A COUPLE OF DAYS before winter break’s end, Boris had been out, doing God knows what, while Hobie finished up dinner with Mrs. Vogel. I sat on the couch watching Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Once our visitor had left, Hobie went down to work on the shop and I was craving a drink after that night at the karaoke bar. I snatched a bottle of wine they left and went back to my room, guzzling it.

I sat at my desk and began a letter to Pippa.

> Dear Pippa,
> 
> How are you? Has school started over there? Did you and your aunt celebrate New Years? Boris and I did. We decided to go to the celebration in Times Square. It was a lot of fun. I have no idea where he is now, probably dead. Anyway, I miss you a lot and I hope things are going well over there.
> 
> Sincerely, Theo

I set the paper aside and passed out on the desk.

I was awoken to Boris slapping me on the head. “What the fuck?” I exclaimed. I then noticed the blood gushing out of his nose and his entire face bruised.

“I went out, and—” before he could finish his sentence, he fell back onto the floor.

“Shit, Boris!” I yelled, jumping to help him.

It wasn’t long before he woke up again. I was sitting on the side of the bed, his head buried in pillows. “Good evening fucktard.”

“Huh? Are you drunk?”

“What? No!” I held the side of his bony face. “Remember? You know. . . I don’t know. But you do.”

“Oh yah, right. I was gonna get some coke from these random guys cause there’s no one at school to help and—”

“ _Why were you trying to get drugs_?!”

He shrugged. “Is no big deal.”

Rolling my eyes, I hopped off the bed. “Can you get up?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m getting Hobie.”

He came in slowly, peeking his head in. He chuckled and asked what happened, standing beside Boris and me.

“Uh, I got—I got jumped.”

“Yeesh! New York can be quite dangerous on your own. Have Theo go with you next time. You need some ice?”

“Ice? What for?” Boris said. “I hate ice.”

“An icepack, silly.”

## ix.

"POTTER, CAN I TELL YOU something?” Boris said unexpectedly, both of us tired and trying to sleep.

“Yeah. . . ?”

“You sure you won’t be mad?”

I looked at him, my eyebrows furrowing. “I guess not?”

“I took your painting. Just for a while, I put it back—”

I hadn’t even thought about the painting in months. I sat up and grabbed his arm “ _What?!_ _You didn’t even know I had it—_ ”

“Yeah I did. You showed me it. Blackout drunk. A mess, you.”

It took me for what felt like an eternity trying to process it. “I, why? Why did you fucking take it though? Were you going to sell it?!”

“Dunno! I don’t know why I took it!”

“Was it damaged? Where did you store it? How long did you have it? When did you take it? What the fuck!”

“No, under my bed, for a few weeks, and last year. I felt bad about it and returned it! Good as new!”

“It took you this long to tell me?”

He was staring at me, and even in the dark I could tell he was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry! I just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you right after but I was afraid and I thought you would forgive me now and I didn’t want to be hiding anything from you.”

I didn’t know how to feel about it. He was sorry. I know he was. But I still wasn’t sure of his intentions. I glared at him for a moment before leaving to go sleep on the couch.

## x.

I WOKE UP TO Boris fixing breakfast, startled to see me awake. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said shakily, making coffee beside him.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

I kept my eyes on the ground. “I’m sorry too. I was being a dick.”

“Yes, you were.”

I laughed and elbowed him. “Wanna see a movie tonight? I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t wanna but I thought it might be fun and we could smuggle in some candy and stuff and like—”

“Chill, Potter. Of course I want to.”

I smiled at him.

We left after dinner. We stopped by a pharmacy (Skittles for Boris, Twizzlers for me) and arrived at the theater. We hadn’t decided what we were gonna watch, picking a random movie last minute which I’m still not sure the name of. The place was freezing, reeking of popcorn. Boris laid his head on my shoulder during the movie, making the cold a little more bearable. His warmth was comforting. Still a cold undertone, with his lanky body, bony wrists, hair that was cut not too long ago, short and dark. He smelled of cigarettes and, surprisingly, cologne.

I hadn’t thought about the painting situation the entire night. Later, I laid with Boris in bed and thought longingly of my mother. Quiet, soft music whispering in my ears, her beaming and playing me her favorite music. A peaceful night, two years ago. Only months before the bombing.

* * *

## Chapter 2.

## The Father We Never Had

* * *

## i.

PIPPA VISITED ONCE AGAIN in January. She was happy to see not only me, but Boris, too. I was glad she liked him. She was nearly our height, with her hair grown back and bangs. She wore long coats and scarfs. A new necklace, something I hadn’t seen before. She had bright, hazel eyes with strokes of brown. She was even more beautiful.

“Theo! You look great!” she said, throwing her arms around me. I didn’t look any different than before.

I smiled. “You too.”

Nodding towards Boris, then back at me. “Actually, could I talk to you outside?”

I looked back at Boris, who nodded for me to go ahead. I was nervous, and for what I didn’t know.

“Umm. . . what’s up?” I said, freezing without my jacket.

She looked at me for a moment, then held my cheek and kissed me. I was startled and hoping to God that Boris wasn’t watching from inside. I didn’t know what to do except for stand there.

When she pulled away, she smiled. “So. . . I don’t know. I was thinking, and I just thought there was always something there. Do you, y’know? Feel the same way?”

“Uh, um,” I stammered. “Yeah.”

Her face lit up and I felt horrible. Why would I lie? What was next?

“Do you wanna. . . be my boyfriend?”

My heart dropped. I panicked. “Well, uh, yeah.”

“Cool. . . cool. We can go back inside, I guess.”

The rest of the evening was awkward. I had tried to tell Boris what had happened multiple different times, but we were always interrupted. Until later that night, after I snuck back into Boris and I’s room.

“You, you just stood there?!” Boris exclaimed.

I shrugged. “What else would I do?”

“You’re such a fucking _durak_ ,” he said. “I can show you.”

“What?” I went red.

“Potter, it’s not like we haven’t kissed before. Calm down.”

I blinked at him and before I knew it he leaned in and kissed me, touching my face gently. It was much shorter than what I had with Pippa, yet much more satisfying and _right_. Back then, I refused to think I was gay, almost appalled by the idea, which is now hilarious to me. Of course I was.

When he pulled away, he grinned. “Like that.”

“Okay,” I said awkwardly. I hadn’t felt like that in a while, it was like a whiff of fresh air. Without thinking much of it, I kissed him back, a lot longer than the first and I woke up clung to him. I didn’t remember much.

## ii.

I DREADED TELLING HOBIE the news, but Pippa sat him down the next morning while I stood on her left, apprehensive. She was beaming and I couldn’t feel even worse about it.

“Um, Hobie, well. Last night we decided and I guess we’re together!”

He looked at me for a moment, then back at Pippa, confused. He broke out of it, then smiled. “That’s great news.”

I tried to paint a smile on too, but I knew he knew.

While I was hanging out with Hobie downstairs, he asked me about it. “I thought you were with Boris.”

“Well, yeah, I don’t know. He’s—it’s complicated. He’s okay with it, though.”

He sighed. “You have to accept it, you know that right?”

I nodded awkwardly. “Um, I’m gonna go upstairs. Where’s Pippa and Boris, though?”

“They’re out, probably eating dinner or something.”

“Without me?”

“I suppose.” He shrugged.

Groaning, I went upstairs to my room and went to sleep.

When I woke, Boris had stepped in and was tip-toeing to the restroom, but I still saw him. “Hey.”

He was startled and nearly fell backward out of shock. “Jesus, hi.”

“Where were you guys?”

“Eating.”

I sat up. “So I thought.”

“Shouldn’t you be in Pippa’s room? Like, now that things are official, yes? Or no? Are you guys. . .”

“Look, it’s nothing.”

“It shouldn’t be nothing. She was so happy, I feel bad, really.”

Rubbing my eyes, I exhaled tiredly. “This needs to stop. For now, at least. I need to be with her.”

“Is so stupid of you to do this. You could’ve just said no,” he said.

“Well, I don’t want something happening like _what happened_ again!”

Boris flinched. “Okay, okay, calm down. Go to her room, is the right thing to do.”

I rolled my eyes and slid myself off the bed. When I left, I slammed the door shut. It was dumb for me to get so worked up over this, but I let it happen anyway. Pippa greeted me when I came in, it looked as if she was sleeping before.

I rested on her bed and as stiff as a board I tried to sleep. I was so uncomfortable I would’ve rather just slept on the floor. I laid there awake for a total of four hours, according to the digital alarm on the side table.

## iii.

PIPPA WENT BACK HOME that day. I felt so awful and sick, I couldn’t believe I was going to do this. She left in the morning, right before school and it plagued my mind for the entirety of the day.

Andy sat with us at lunch, which I wasn’t too in favor of. At the same time, it felt like I was losing everything and everyone I used to know. 

“So. . .” Andy said. “How was Desert End Road? Was it like I thought it would be?”

“Sort of,” I replied. I knew Boris was going to tell him about everything.

And, as I had expected, he did. Andy, a kid who would refuse to do anything that might get him in trouble, was stunned. I hadn’t spoken a word to Boris since the night before.

“How’d you get here?”

The bell rang—and Boris sighed. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

I looked at the painting later that day. It was overwhelming to see, so ethereal in the dim lighting, moonlight shining through the curtains. I felt attached to the bird, chained up and stuck. It was my center point, my direction to all things.

Although the occasion was rare, I longed to be with my mother again, in the museum, alongside Pippa and Welty and whoever I saw. I have a vivid memory of a couple, a pale woman and man with so many layers I couldn’t figure out anything about them. It’s odd to think that every single person around you has a life of their own, just waiting to be discovered. They were looking at an Eakins painting, only stopping for a second to move onto the next.

Why had all this happened? Why did she have to die? My life would’ve been so less confusing and awful. But at the same time, I wouldn’t have met half of the people I know now. It’s hard to decide between the two, if my mother was alive, I would be eating dinner and watching television with her in our little apartment, talking about my day at school (with Tom Cable, probably), but now, I have Boris and Hobie and Pippa and people who make me happy, my days are more hectic than before, with ups and downs and everything in between.

## iv.

_Boris’s POV_

IT'S HARD TO ADMIT, but I was jealous. Had this been what Theo felt like for all those horrid months? Staring at me and Kotku, cuddling and laughing on the couch while we watched a shitty movie on the television? Almost like we were mocking him?

It was only going to get worse, I thought. Next thing I know I’d be walking in on them making out for God’s sake. I knew he didn’t mean any harm, but it was still like my heart was being ripped to pieces and everything that had happened before didn’t matter anymore. He even laid on the other side of the bed.

I was sure Hobie knew all about it. He nearly bolted out of the room whenever we’d see each other. It was embarrassing, to say the least. It was petty and stupid of us to ignore each other.

But, in all my time alone, I went out. It was wrong and I knew I shouldn’t have, but I reverted back to my old ways and got blackout drunk on the daily, lingering around subway stations, getting ran after by cops, and doing whatever I could to fill the hole inside of me. New York was a beautiful city, though. I’d never been and quickly picked up on my surroundings, feeling at peace with the place.

School was—well—school. I tried to keep up with my studies and I ended up doing pretty good that year. I skipped lunch, but I was sure that Andy was still eating with Theo. We weren’t allowed to leave the building, which I was bummed about. I hung out in the bathroom, sitting on the cold floor and smoking (usually just cigarettes, but I’d sometimes do weed instead). I’d met some people there, two guys named Aaron Lancaster and Hunter Perez. I’d told them about everything.

“He’s a fucking dick!” Hunter said.

I shrugged, scratching behind my ear. “He doesn’t know it’s wrong. I cannot blame him.”

“Dump him, seriously.”

“Well, we weren’t really anything to begin with—”

He poked at my shoulder. “You’re just making excuses. You should ghost him, even if you weren’t _anything,_ ” he insisted, using air-quotes. “Right, Aaron?”

“I don’t know. It’s his decision.”

“You guys, I live with him. I can’t just—run away. I don’t want to either, Potter’s my best friend.”

Hunter sighed. “I’ll talk to him after school, how ‘bout that?”

“No, don’t. I’ll beat the fucking life out of you, I swear to God. I should go, anyway. Bye guys,” I said, standing up and walking out the door.

## v.

ALTHOUGH WE EVENTUALLY RELINKED again, it didn’t mean there wasn’t a layer of hostility under all of this. I refrained from getting too close. I hung out with Andy some, eating dinner with the Barbours with a distressing emptiness in me, and in all of them, too.

I had gotten back into drugs again, specifically LSD. It came on like thunder, striking every detail, my thoughts raced and I was, for the most part, productive. I would write long manuscripts, filled with wonderings and epiphanies and all sorts of things—though most of the time I couldn’t understand it in the morning. But I was alone, and it wasn’t as much fun. I’d get to a point where I was awfully somber, laying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, little cracks, spider webs in the corners and texture I could feel in my fingertips. I wouldn’t cry, but simply go into a deep, depressing, and endless hole where I pitied myself and everything that’s happened. Unlike Boris, I had actually found someone at school who supplied it. I made money working in the shop, Hobie would pay me around twenty bucks a day.

I knew Boris had fallen back into his old habits too, as I’d find remains of cocaine lines on the sink and he’d talk to me with his eyes red and pupils dilated, he’d come home drunk and happier than usual, chatting me up like it was no big deal. We still slept in the same bed, sometimes he’d move closer and drape his arm over my torso, while I, irritated, would push him off and try to go back to sleep. Although I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t do the same, I’d forget we were in a “quarrel” and clutch to him after my nightmares (which were becoming more and more often, sometimes not about my mother—but about Boris, him leaving with no goodbye, me waking up, rushing to find him but he’s simply just gone—Hobie unaware when I come downstairs crying). He didn’t mind, but it usually took him a few moments to adjust to the situation and comfort me.

It was nearing spring break and Hobie suggested we went camping. Neither Boris or I had ever done anything of the sort, although Boris had suffered a few times of “accidentally” going camping (long nights on the side of the street, snow all over, and the wind straining his face with numbness cold). He’d told us that Welty, Pippa, and him went camping every year, but since he passed he refused. But finally he was getting his life back on track and had people with him, he reconsidered. It was a few hour drive out into the forest area of New York, but nothing too bad. Boris and I traveled across the country on our own.

Maybe—I thought—just maybe doing this I could get a chance for us to reconnect. I hated to admit it but I missed him immensely. I’d wait for him to come home, nearly falling asleep in the process but I kept myself awake no matter what, I needed to see him every night. One time, he hadn’t been home in a couple of days and I was frantic, texting him (with no response), asking Hobie of his whereabouts, checking around the house for a sign and driving myself crazy looking for him in the city. When he’d finally come home, only later in the day, I jumped out of my seat at the desk and hugged him—he was confused but glad to see me either way. I only know now that I was in the same pattern I was when my mother died, and what I had done before then. I kept track of when Boris usually arrived home and if it was only an hour or two later than that I began to worry. I was so afraid that someday he wouldn’t come home, found out to be dead or missing. The truth was; I needed him.

## vi.

I WAS PACKING MY bags for the camping trip when Boris came in. I looked around at him, he gave me a smile, the ones that look so broken yet so hopeful. Like he was proud of me or something like that.

“Hi?” I said awkwardly, tapping my finger on the desk chair.

“Hi.”

I stared at him for a few moments. “Why are you in here?”

“Same reason as you, _durak_. I got shit to pack.”

I smiled and went back to my bags.

“You guys ready to go? Oh, I’m so excited. We’re probably gonna there around dinner time, that okay? Well, I don’t know why that wouldn’t be okay. I got food for the trip the other day, and I ran into Mrs. Barbour on the way! Totally forgot to tell you that.”

I was glad to see Hobie so happy. He rented a car just for this trip, he sat in the front while Boris and I sat in the back.

We drove through Manhattan. Skyscrapers, people scattered like ants and bikers passing through the crosswalks. We were in the Upper East Side. I felt an awful sickness in my stomach—we were nearing the museum, turning on 5th Avenue. I remembered walking this way with my mother, rain pattering on our heads and her arm around me. I also walked this way home, covered in grime and on the verge of fainting.

Boris had taken notice of my behavior and touched my hand. I looked to him, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he whispered.

“We’re close to the Met.”

He thought for a moment, then tapped the back of Hobie’s seat. “We should turn to the right. Isn’t there some road? It would be a little cooler, yes?”

“Madison Avenue? I mean, sure.”

He took this into account and turned on the next intersection. I left out the breath I was holding and thanked Boris quietly.

The rest of the drive was incredibly boring, I passed out not too long into it and I woke up with my head buried in Boris’s lap. I was too embarrassed to sit up, and I ended up acting like I was asleep for the remainder of the ride.

“C’mon Potter, we’re here.”

I sighed and sat up, he laughed at me. “I had to sit still for entire fucking time! You know how hard that is?”

“Language!” Hobie called out.

“Sorry, Mr. Hobie. But I’m nearly an adult! Does it matter?”

He shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. But still, language.”

I sat, smiling. Watching them somehow made me so happy. I was glad we were here, in New York. We both liked Hobie and I knew he liked us too. He was like the father we never had.

We got out of the car and had to walk a ways, but eventually we reached a lake, a large one in fact. Stretching hills surrounded us, and it was painfully quiet—we hadn’t seen anyone since we’d arrived. Above us, there was a mix of dark and light clouds, the type of sky where the sun seeps through at times, gleaming on the horizon, then being locked away to darken.

“Let’s hope there’s no storm tonight, yeah?” Hobie said, chuckling. We sat on the ground and started unpacking.

## vii.

LATER THAT DAY, ONCE we’d hiked a 3 mile trail for hours on end (surprisingly, Hobie kept himself far ahead—Boris and I, who hadn’t done physical exercise in years, limped behind with our backs sweating like we were in Death Valley), tried to fish, and gotten our food prepared, we’d sat down in front of the fire eating hotdogs. I was exhausted. Hobie was rambling mindlessly about Welty while I watched in admiration. He’d made us take a photo together and I never realized until that moment that Boris and I had never had our picture taken. Many years in Las Vegas, the thought hadn’t come to mind and I was sad that we hadn’t, no memories to clench to from that time.

Hobie stood up, grabbing his tiny, on the verge of vintage camera. I stood on Boris’s right while he stuck a thumbs up and grinned like nothing else mattered. I tried to smile, but it came out awkward and seemed like I didn’t want to be there. The picture still hangs in the hall of Hobie’s apartment. I pass by it sometimes, the feeling that swallows me when I see it is not bad nor good. Just a nostalgic longing.

“So, you guys gonna sleep in the same tent or do I have to set up another?”

“Uh, um, I—” I looked to Boris and he was just as embarrassed as me. “I don’t know—”

“Separate is fine, I can set it up though,” he said.

I looked at him one more time before returning to my food. There was a long silence after that.

I laid awake. The sound of crickets and birds were so loud I couldn’t sleep. I checked the time on my watch, having to squint because of the dark. 2:52 AM.

I sat up, my body aching like a bad hangover. Silently, I crawled out of my tent and tip-toed to Boris’s. He was awake, as I expected.

“Why are you not asleep?” he asked, looking up from his book— _The Idiot_.

I shrugged and sat down in front of him. “Y’know, I have this amazing idea.”

“Hm?”

I smirked and pulled out an acid strip from my pocket. He sighed. “Potter, is not an amazing idea. You shouldn’t have that stuff on you, anyways. I don’t like it.”

“Oh shut up, you do coke on the fucking daily. It’s not a big deal, plus, acid isn’t really addictive. And—it’s one night! A good night for it, too! We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

He rubbed his temples. “God, fine. We should get some ways from camp, I don’t want to wake the old poofter.”

I helped Boris up, grabbing the flashlight from his side and we walked for a few minutes, landing in an empty field with grass going up to our thighs. The sky was scattered with stars, like glitter was poured. It was beautiful.

We sat down and took one tab for each of us. The grass was enclosing us, our own hidden little spot.

It took some time for the effects to kick in, and by the time they did I was wishing it took longer. It was the start of a bad trip, a really bad one. We still sat, but I was so afraid that I was going to fall through the ground into a bottomless pit, Boris’s face melted, same with the sky and it was nearly going to fall on me. I held onto Boris like my anchor. He didn’t have it as bad, he seemed to be smiling, although I couldn’t tell from the dark and his face mushed like play-doh.

I laid down on his lap, shutting my eyes tight as if it would help. He stroked my back. I wasn’t able to tell how long I was there, but when I opened my eyes again it was nearing daylight, the sky was turning blue again. I looked at Boris, who had fallen back onto the ground, sleeping soundly. My stomach rumbled and I felt an awful taste in my mouth.

“Boris, get up, we gotta go.”

He shot up, his hair messy and leaves and grass stuck to it. “Shit, shit, I remember going back to camp, what? Fuck—damn it, we gotta hurry—”

“Yeah, we do,” I mumbled, standing up. My head hurt like a bitch and I was horribly dizzy. We stumbled back to our tents, Boris picking out random bits of nature from his ratted hair.

Before going back to bed, a feeling surged to my mouth and I rushed to the lake, where I threw up. I couldn’t do it on the ground, Hobie would notice.

I couldn’t sleep, too many cramps and pains, bad memories of the night before. I laid for hours before Hobie finally “woke” us up.

Boris climbed out of his tent tiredly, he ran his fingers through his hair—which needed a cut badly. It went past his shoulders.

I stood fidgeting while Hobie fixed breakfast, Boris watched attentively. The sun was glaring, so bright it made my head ache with pain. I attempted to hide the night before, Boris slipped up and mentioned questionable things but other than that Hobie had no suspicion. I didn’t want him to, he hadn’t ever learned about my past three years, what happened and what still kept with me today.

Breakfast was simply bacon and granola bars; he cooked it at a portable stove. There wasn’t much to do ahead of us, a short hike and we head back home.

## viii.

POPPER GREETED US AT the door, yipping and clawing our legs with joy.

Boris picked him up and held him in the air. “Yes, Snaps, I missed you! Ooh, kisses? You want kisses?” he said, burying his face in his fur. Hobie had already gotten our luggage from the car and set it on the coffee table. I stood there watching, disassociated. 

“Well, I should probably return the car now, I’ll see you guys in a bit,” Hobie said.

I sighed and took a seat on the couch. The house smelled of cinnamon spice, it was warm in colors and homey to say the least. I shouldered off my jacket as Boris sat next to me, exhaling and chuckling. “I should get a haircut, yes? It’s about time,” he mentioned.

I shrugged. “If you want to. I’ve never seen you with short hair, so it could be really ugly as well.”

“Hey, _idi nahui!_ I look good in anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. I thought you looked pretty shit when I first met you.”

He gave me a humorous look. “I didn’t need to know that!”

“Your hair was greasy, your clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks, and you smelled horrible. I’m surprised you didn’t know that. But I’m used to all of it now.”

“Fucking hell, you know how to make a guy insecure.”

“Well, it’s one of my specialties. C’mon, get the remote, let’s watch something.”

## ix.

IN THE FOLLOWING WEEKS, Boris had cut his hair (a tangle of black strands still ran across his face, but the overall length was much shorter), along with picking up the hobby of painting his nails. When we’d first gotten here, I’d rushed to return to my prior Las Vegas self—short hair, tacky outfits and the smell of lemon cologne. We were both nearly adults, and although I could not see a slimmer of adultness in me, I did in Boris. He’d grown, physically and mentally. He was taller, his face sharpened and his features changed. He was more polite (probably something he picked up from me), he jumped to help people and make them laugh, he was dedicated to the things and people he loved. Much different than the Boris I met when I was fourteen—irresponsible, he said the things at the wrong times and was incredibly immature, his manners lacked and he never cared about much. I didn’t mind it, though, because underneath it all I knew he still had a heart. A good one, too, despite his defying traits.

On the topic of Boris, ever since the camping trip, we seemed to be on good terms. When Pippa would visit he wouldn’t interfere and I would attempt to keep things on the low; I didn’t want him to be upset. And Pippa had noticed he wouldn’t talk to me much when she was around and asked me about it. I, panicking just a bit, said he was just in a bad mood—even though he couldn’t have been in a bad mood every single time. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or hurt her by breaking up, but it was incredibly stressful. But, at the same time, If I didn’t break up with her myself, maybe she would find out about something and end us on an even worse relationship. I was always tense with this lingering in my mind, affecting every movement I make when with her, but I tried to not let it get to me. I loved her, right? Just not in that way.

I hadn’t talked to the Barbours in a while. I felt so out of place with them I couldn’t stand visiting. Before I’d met Boris I fit right in, but now, after a drug overdose and my hygiene deteriorating and running away and stealing and doing all these things, I am no longer a piece of the puzzle, I’m only one that fits with Boris.

## x.

PIPPA HAD COME OVER  and we sat in my room with cigarettes, talking about Pippa’s stay in Texas and the boarding school she attended not long after. “It was horrible. I was to wake up in the sheer daylight and attend Church services. We had constant work and duties, we prayed before every single meal and the people were quite boring and rude. I had a couple of friends, though, their names were Ida and Charlene, lovely people. Charlene was sent here because she was caught with a girl and her parents wanted to  _ fix _ her—and Ida? Well, her parents were shit, to say the least. They just wanted her gone. They were both really nice, though. Oh—am I talking too much? It feels like I am. Did you meet anybody in rehab? Or were they all bad too?”

I shuddered, thinking of Nathan. “No. I didn’t meet anyone.”

“Really? Well, how was everyone?”

“I don’t know, can we talk about something else?”

She sighed. “I was actually thinking we could, y’know. . .” she said, tapping the bed with a nervous tone.

“What?”

“Like, like we’ve been together for a while, and I don’t know it just feels like an okay time,” she mumbled, scooting closer.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, actually I have to go see Hobie, he wanted me to check out this—thing,” I said, standing up and walking out the door urgently.

I hurried to leave the apartment, taking my coat with me on the way. It was busy—5 pm. The sidewalks were bustling with people, along with the roads. I maneuvered quick and fast through crowds, then in an almost deserted alleyway.

Taking out a small little bag of speed from my pocket—I looked around, scooped up a bit and sniffed it. Electric—bam! Fixed and much better. I took a deep breath and went back into the light. Not much light, actually. The sun had set and the sky was a dark blue.

Surprisingly, until that moment, I hadn’t noticed my towering height compared to the people around me—even adult men, with briefcases and suits and all the business attire, on their way home from work to their nice little home with their nice little family. I hoped to God I wouldn’t end up like them. Lazy office work, mornings with a nicely made breakfast waiting for them, two children, a wife, attending weddings that stretched on and on, with leaving the house only for work and food. Throughout my youth, I couldn’t imagine myself living past twenty—hell, even fifteen. But as I’m writing this, I’m nearing my thirties. It was horrible back then, but worth it.

There was a piercing cold—even with my gigantic coat on I still shivered and gritted my teeth. I seemed to walk on for hours, shops with “ _ Open!”  _ in big bright lights outside their windows, an occasional musician playing jazz or classical for cash. I traveled in circles from time to time, winding up in the same spot over and over—a round-a-bout, a violinist playing quick tunes and the same faces serving food in restaurants, continually until they were done with their shift. Eventually, I was exhausted from the walking and entered a diner with checkered walls and floor, only a few people inside—which I hadn’t realized why until I checked the time on my watch. It was past midnight, which wasn’t surprising considering how long I’d been out.

The waitress (baggy eyes, young, brown hair up in a ponytail) had served my food with a suspicious look—was it the time of night? Or was it me? For what I didn’t know.

Once I’d finished my food, I decided it was time to go home. I honestly had no clue where I was, so that was a problem. I had to ask a local for directions to Manhattan, and although I got home at some point during the night, it still took me more than an hour to find my way.


End file.
